


Taking Care of Ben

by likingandloving



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likingandloving/pseuds/likingandloving
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Leslie takes care of Ben while he has food poisoning (Set during Ann's Decision)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Care of Ben

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Here's just a cute one-shot of Leslie taking care of Ben while he had food poisoning, just cause this is one of the things I wish they had shown in their relationship. I hope you enjoy!

There is something off about him tonight, but Ben can’t really point a finger on what it is.

He’s pouring over his spreadsheets, trying to figure out a way to reconfigure this budget just so that Public Works has enough to keep their trucks and still find a way to pour enough money into Sewage so they can fix that epic disaster of a pipe blowup a few days back.

(A few houses, a massive leak and a smell Ben would rather not remember.)

Usually a problem like this would take him and hour or two tops, but it’s been almost four hours and his eyes are getting crossed trying to reconfigure ink-laden numbers and he feels like he’s just going in circles. He huffs in frustration and tosses his pen to the side, staring down at the number as if he was expecting them to start talking and give him all the answers he needed.

He was just trying to catch up on work, since he had taken a personal day to try to choose a caterer, despite the fact that Chris, Ron and Tom were basically useless and he just picked a caterer _he_ liked.

And really, if you were fighting with a small pastry whose pocket is filled with only the tangiest of tomato sauces, perfectly seasoned meat and only the finest of cheeses, (it might not be true, but at least to him it was) there was only one winner.

But now these budgets were starting to seem impossible. The numbers were morphing into Chinese characters and great, now he was starting to _actually_ feel dizzy.

Ben reaches over to flip the lamp off at his desk and he considers it a miracle that he actually makes it to his bed because it feels like his floor was actually purposely trying to hit him.

\---

It first starts with the puking.

It’s not like he was really sleeping. He was just tossing and turning, twirling around in his too hot and too sticky sheets with his eyes closed. His sheets were starting to feel like a straightjacket that was holding his arms and legs hostage, but his stomach was currently trying to beat the world record for most cartwheels performed.

He tries to hold it off for as long as he could, trying to tell himself that he _didn’t_ need to throw-up and foolishly thinking maybe it would work this time.

But eventually, he blinks slowly, his eyes adjusting to the sharp light from his nightstand clock.

5:03.

His stomach performs another cartwheel before he quickly jolts out of his bed, nearly tripping on the cape of his Batman suit on the floor, before ending up with his head straight in the toilet and watching the spinach-artichoke dip makes it way back up his esophagus.

He’s sure that his stomach absolutely hates him as it contracts and retches the rest of his food back up. The sad sound of his groans and moans bounce of the tiled walls and he hopes April and Andy don’t hear him because he’s not really in the mood for anyone to see him in such a degenerate state.

He’s not sure how long he stays with his head way too close to the mixture of partly digested food and acid. When he feels the storm in his stomach quell, he makes his way back to bed, collapsing on sweat-ridden sheets with part-mouthwash, part-puke breath and starts to wonder what he’s done to his body that’s causing it to absolutely despise him.

Ben curls up against the soft cotton and tries to ignore the pain that seems to be coming from a million elves stampeding on his insides. Instead, he closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep and tell his stomach that its gymnastics competition was cancelled.

Sadly, he had no such luck.

Within 30 minutes, he’s back in the bathroom and he decides to spend the rest of the night with a sweaty forehead pressed against the tiled floor and wonders if this is what dying feels like.

Fluids start to come out from both ends soon after that.

\---

Food poisoning, of course.

Ron had provided an explanation along with an unnecessary recount of what happened to the bottom of his toilet bowl and Ben briefly wonders what the own state of his toilet was like.

When Tom flits into Chris’ office looking completely fine and normal, Ben wonders what he’s done to deserve this. But when he mentions that he had eaten everything _but_ the calzones, he doesn’t know if it’s the food poisoning or the news that makes his head spin.

“The calzones…. _betrayed m_ e?”

The calzones, once a dish that he held with reverence (no exaggeration) had caused his body to completely crumple and turn on him? How could a dish, so innovative and so unique, suddenly turn into poison that just caused the bane of his existence?

He groans, clutching his stomach as the smooth wood of his desk cools his clammy skin. He had decided that maybe suffering in his own office would have to do for now, since Chris’ own office was beginning to reek of an unpleasant mixture of day old Chinese food and stomach acid.

“Hey Ben, you ready for lunch? This whole Ann thing has just bee—“

Oh shit. His lunch date with Leslie.

Ben lifts a weary head and Leslie immediately notices the pale complexion, the sweat that shines brightly on his forehead and the drool that hangs slightly out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh my God, Ben, are you okay?” Leslie rushes over to her fiance’s side, pressing a cool hand against his forehead and feeling the heat sting her palm, rolling off Ben’s crumpled figure in waves.

“F-Food poisoning. C-Caterer.”

“You have food poisoning and you’re at work? Are you crazy? And—“ Leslie sniffs around. “What is that _smell_?”

“Leslie Kno—“ Chris’ enthusiastic greeting is cut off by him turning and vomiting in the nearest trashcan. Leslie wrinkles her nose before tugging on Ben’s jacket and helping him up.

“Come on, we need to get you home.”

\---

“Please? Just _one_ bite?” Leslie holds the spoon of lukewarm chicken soup, trying to coax Ben to eat it. Ben turns his head in disgust, a green-ish tint covering his face as he stares at the noodles and somewhat translucent yellow liquid on the spoon. Leslie sighs, defeated, putting away the soup before pressing a cool hand to Ben’s cheek.

“Babe, you need to eat. You’re going to end up dehydrated if you don’t eat and I don’t want to have to send you to Ann.”

“No, I can’t eat, I’m going to throw up my stomach if I do.” He groans. “I’m going to _die_ , Leslie!”

“Oh, stop being overdramatic Princess. You won’t die; you’ll feel like shit but you’re not going to die because _I_ -“ She kisses his clammy forehead. “- am not going to let that happen. Now I can’t do my job if you can’t eat.”

She tries again, lifting some of the soup to his lips that stay firmly sealed.

There is no way that Ben is going to eat this soup willingly. She was going to need another tactic.

“Hey Benji?” She calls out, a flirty undertone to her voice. “If you finish this bowl of soup, when you’re all better I’ll do that thing that you like…”

She leans into his ear, whispering something incoherently and running a finger down his sweaty, sticky shirt.

His eyes dilate, pupils growing darker.

When she holds up the spoon to his mouth again, he opens his mouth as wide as he can.

At least now she knows what his weaknesses are.

(Not like it was a secret anyway.)

\---

3:52.

That’s what it says on Leslie’s radio clock, its harsh green light slightly stinging her eyes as her ears pick up on sounds of retching from her bathroom.

She told Ben to wake her up when he got sick again. Tired hands rub sleepily at her eyes and her footsteps are muted as she checks on Ben in the bathroom.

“Hey, you okay?” Leslie asks.

Ben nods, raising his head for a moment before he retches again and throws his head back into toilet. Her heart ached in her chest seeing Ben so miserable, but if she was being honest, seeing Ben sick, weak, and helpless made her feel good.

Well, not the fact that Ben was suffering. Actually, she hated it. But the fact that for once, she felt like he was the one who needed her.

Ben has always been the strong one. He was always the one with a solution to problems, always a caretaker, a provider; always the one whose arms were wrapped around her, holding her together when she felt like falling apart. It felt reassuring to know that once in a while, she could take care of him for a change.

She dips a small towel in cool water before placing it on the back of his neck and rubbing his back. He retches a few more times, his body crumpling violently as the soup that she fed him came up in a more unpleasant form.

“Go back to bed Les. I’m fi—“ His words are cut off by another round of food coming up his throat.

“Yeah, because clearly vomiting your internal organs is the universal sign for fine. Just let me take care of you, Ben.”

Maybe he’s too tired to say no, or maybe he does actually want her to take care of him, so he just nods his head tiredly.

“It’s like being hungover, but without the fun of being drunk.” Ben mutters later, when the retching stops and all he’s left doing is spitting into the water. Leslie reaches up to flush the toilet, doing everything in her power not to look at the regurgitated food and have her own dinner of waffles come up.

“Don’t worry buddy, we’ll do the fun type of vomiting when you’re better okay?”

(She looks a little, and she maybe gags a little, but she’s strong, see? She’s not going to vomit.)

Leslie guides Ben back to bed after he rinses his mouth with mouthwash and she checks his temperature and wraps him up in the warmest blanket she has and runs her fingers through his slightly damp hair until his body goes slack against hers.

Ben snores softly and Leslie checks her ‘Ben Is Sick: Don’t Kiss Him’ binder and looks through her post-its that contain notes from Ann on some basic first aid instructions because if she was going to take care of Ben, she was going to do it the Leslie Knope way and give it at least 110%.

\---

Leslie comes home to find Ben on the couch, watching Game of Thrones and looking exponentially better. A little bit of his color returned and based on the half-empty bowl of soup on the table and an open pack of saltine crackers, it means that he ate, even just a little bit.

“Hey babe. Feeling better?” 

Ben nods, standing up to greet her by pressing a careful kiss to her cheek.

“Yeah, much better. Except…” Ben looked at her, giving her a raised eyebrow. “Did Ann really need to come here just to check up on me?”

“Well, yeah. I had work today and I wasn’t about to leave you by yourself without anyone to take care of you.”

“Leslie, I’m a man in my mid-30s, I don’t need anyone to come over and _check_ on me.” His forehead gets all wrinkled in frustration and God, isn’t he just the cutest?

“What did Ann make you do?” Leslie asked, brushing away the crumbs of the saltine crackers on the table. She hears Ben grumble softly under his breath and she has to try and placate the smile threatening to break her cover.

“I can’t hear you Ben.”

She swears that sometimes it was like talking to a small child. (A petulant, hard-headed, albeit very cute, small child.)

“She made me drink medicine that tasted like whatever I threw up.”

“But did it make you feel better?” Her singsong voice mildly irritates him and he lets a beat of silence pass.

Then two.

“Yeah.”

Leslie gets the urge to fist pump, but refrains because she knows that Ben is already nursing the small hit to his ego. Instead, she grabs his hands and tugs him to the couch, pointing to the scene frozen on the screen.

“So what’s Khaleesi up to this time?”

She’s taken it upon herself to start watching Game of Thrones (even though it’s not really watching if she just asks Ben what’s happening and spending most of the time trying to distract him with her womanly wiles) because if it’s something that Ben loves, then why should she try to love it too?

Plus, it’s easier to love than Star Trek because only the Lord knows she can’t sit through one movie without wanting to shoot herself in the head.

\---

It turns out Leslie’s remedy of stuffing soup down his throat mixed with rest and whatever God-awful medicine Ann made him drink cured his food poisoning fast.

And, it turns out, Ann had stuffed the same medicine down everyone’s (even Ron’s throat with much resistance) and almost everyone was up and about by Thursday morning.

Leslie woke to Ben humming softly to himself, staring in the mirror and his nimble fingers tying his tie expertly. The rustle of the covers caused Ben’s attention to shift to her, a small smile gracing his thin lips.

“Morning, sleepyhead. I’m assuming that the mess on the bed is your doing?” Oh yeah, she fell asleep doing the scrapbook for Ann’s uterus. There were scraps of colored paper, markers, scissors and an opened glue stick scattered on her side of the bed. 

“I’m heading out to breakfast with the guys, I’m going to enlist their help picking another caterer. You have that thing with the Douche on their morning radio show right?”

Leslie nods, noting that she should probably start getting ready when Ben leans over and presses a kiss to her head.

“I’ll drop by your office later with some waffles.”

Leslie thinks that she can’t possibly love him more.

But when he actually does show up with waffles and the news that he chose JJ’s as their caterer, she immediately scratches that notion because how can you not love him any more?

(She finds out, on more than one occasion, that _yes_ , it is possible to love Ben Wyatt even more.)

\---


End file.
